Welcome to the crib.

Huh? You don’t know what crib I’m talking about? Why, obviously, this crib!

See, a while back, I realised something important. Sometimes—on a few rare occasions—violence isn’t the answer. Such a moment is now. Kind of. It all began a few weeks ago—yes, yes, I know, just stay with me—when I was tasked with killing this huge ass giant dude. I tried my whole arsenal. Poison, burning, strokes, immobilisation… Everything you can think of, I forced onto him. But this guy, heh, this guy—!

He just wouldn’t die!

Not just that, no matter what I did, he never even winced. Nothing at all. So, I’ve decided to adapt a bit more… unconventional tactics. Which brings us back to this wonderful crib.

See, you enter here, through a gap I made between the ribs. It leads through one of his lungs, and then into the real showcase, namely a roomy, extravagant living room mixed seamlessly with the kitchen, dining room, parlour, retreating room, lounge and pantry. Natural light illuminates the place, entering through a flap in the back that can easily be closed in the event of a sootfall. The bed, carved out of the lung, allows you to relax and lean back, being rocked by the natural breathing of the area.

But the real gem here has to be the fully organic walls, all of which are made out of pure grass-fed, cruelty-free non-GMO meat and flesh. It’s like the Hansel and Gretchen gingerbread house, except it’s made out of flesh and organs! Isn’t that just wonderful?

So, yeah, I’m doing pretty well.

And this is the point at which you start to hyperventilate and ask me in hysterics about how I could just be hanging out when I was only days from the attempt ending when I got to the giant. Carving out a crib this sweet must have taken weeks!

Well, not quite, but you’re also not wrong.

I am on the thirteenth attempt, day 363. I also didn’t need to redo this floor. Why? I’m not entirely sure myself, but right as I was despairing because the attempt was about to end, I got a message. A message about a change being made. I have no idea what caused it, but all of a sudden, I got a message from the gods or whatever that I wouldn’t be returned to the lobby until I had beaten floor fifteen.

Oh, also, apparently, I’m now on floor fifteen, I think? I have no idea. I’m still in the same place, doing the same thing, but on my community profile, it says I’m on the fifteenth floor. Yeah, I’m just as confused as you are. However, this does mean that I can take my time killing this guy with no worries.

This is especially good because he’s fantastic to train TRT and TRR on. Apart from leaving the cavity in his chest I gouged on to hunt random nearby creatures, that’s really all I’ve been doing. Thanks to my efforts, I’ve actually been able to get my Touch of Reverse Resistance to level five now, but since I only have so many resistances at level five, I’ve hit a natural roadblock. I also don’t want to use all of the touches I have since I might need them for more specific situations down the road.

So, to conclude, I’ve got a sweet crib, all the free time in the world, and an awesome new year’s eve party in two days. What’s the problem?

The problem is that I’m not really alone anymore. Okay, that’s a bit disingenuous—it’s not like I’ve suddenly got guests coming over for tea. But it’s also not entirely incorrect.

I can smell them. Goblins. Not too far away, though not exactly nearby, either. They’re sweaty, hot, and crowded tightly together. A couple hundred. Going by the smell of what they’re wearing, there isn’t a single doubt in my mind that they’re soldiers. I first smelled them a few hours ago, and I wasn’t worried then, and neither am I now. It’s just goblins. By their level alone, they won’t be able to get much further through this hellish desert. And that’s exactly what’s happening. Now, finally, I can smell something new about them. Fear. Stress. Blood. Tears. It’s all there, in all of its exquisite glory.

I was going to just let them die—going by the smell, they’re clearly engaged by a woolly drake, one of the more annoyingly ferocious creatures in the desert—but curiosity got the better of me. I mean, they’re soldiers, right? That means they ought to be carrying at least a few rations with them. Rations mean food. Food is yummy.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

…It wouldn’t hurt to swoop in, finish them all off and then loot whatever’s left, right? It’s an excellent plan. Literally nothing can go wrong.

But I’m starting to smell a lot of death, so I’ll need to move quickly.

Exiting the crib, I get down on all fours and start running like an animal. Since I’ve got a goal now, the smell of death and blood and sweat becomes even stronger, guiding me like a clairvoyance trail from skyrim. Quadruped running isn’t technically a skill, but it sometimes feels like it if only because of how fast I can get. Which is why it doesn’t surprise me too much when I show up at the site within mere minutes. Alright, here we are.

Most of the army is still alive, but barely so. It’s a pretty disorganised sight all and all. From what I can see, the army itself doesn’t even have a single unified colour. Some of them are dressed in red, and others in blue. It’s very confusing, and I really don’t get it. Anyway, at this distance, it’s clear as day that my hunch was correct. A woolly drake the size of a bus is tearing through the army, trampling some underfoot, eating others whole and tearing yet more apart. It’s a pretty cool sight now that I’m looking at it, sort of like a Godzilla fight gone wrong, but if I want to save any exp for myself, I kind of need to take out the drake as soon as possible.

Not to mention that a few of the goblins have already noticed my presence and are actively staring at me like I’m the coming of the anti-Christ. Has nobody taught these goblins that it’s rude to stare?

Well, anyways. I guess I’d better get to it.

Leaning down, I pick a half-dead soldier off the ground. He makes a weird wheezing noise like how I’d imagine a busted accordion might sound, but it doesn’t really matter. The woolley drake doesn’t react to sound, or even sight, but rather movement. Which means that I can grab its attention pretty easily by just throwing this guy at its face, which I do. The drake hisses and snaps its jaws in the air, turning its attention to me. Wonderful.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, it throws itself at me, stomping some guy beneath its massive feet and crushing his head into a flat pancake, which looked pretty funny, but since I have no time to laugh at silly slapstick, I restrain myself.

The woolly drake is very effective at running through the soot, which is unusual, but easily countered. All I need to do is crouch down and get beneath it. See, unlike most lizards, it has really long, almost lanky legs specifically made for trudging through soot. This puts its abdomen and stomach high above the soot as a way of protecting it. Right at the perfect eviscerating height. So, once it’s close enough, I deftly dodge a slap of its paw, duck down beneath it, and stab my hand into the soft part just below its ribs. It cries out in pain and begins thrashing, but I’ve already affixed myself to its bosom by grabbing hold of its ribs, so I’m not going anywhere.

As a matter of fact, this just lets me do more damage, mainly in the form of digging around until I’ve grabbed one of its three hearts. One good squeeze and the heart goes pop! Another squeeze and the others follow suit.

The woolly drake cries out, thrashing like a maniac, trampling even more soldiers underfoot, before finally buckling over, falling on its back onto the soot. This means that I am currently standing atop the downed drake, covered head-to-toe in its blood. I must look hideous. Cleaning this off is going to be such a bother…

Standing atop the dead drake, I look out onto the rest of the collected group. A little above a hundred and fifty injured or exhausted goblins look up at me.

Well, I might as well get to it straight away.

Leaping off the drake, I roll myself into a ball mid-air. But I avoid crashing onto the soot-covered ground, partially because it’ll make me easier to discover, and also because it takes an annoyingly long amount of time to heal from the full-body third-degree burns. Instead, I jump right on top of a goblin soldier, stabbing my hand into his throat at the same time as I twist his neck, which lets me tear his head off in one smooth movement. The head itself is only useful as shock-material, so I just toss it at the closest goblin.

And thus begins my little massacre. It was far easier than I had expected, but that was only because I had foolishly assumed that they would have an average level higher than eleven. I even saw a few that still had the title gobling, so, you know. Make of that what you will. Obviously, though, this wasn’t enough to make me stupidly spare them or whatever. I just kept going from one to the other, tearing out throats and ripping out spines with speedy efficiency.

One by one, dozen by dozen, I took them out. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

As I went along, I eventually realised that even though the sooty sands were now littered with motionless bodies, I could still smell the scent of living goblins. Weird.

It seems, in my frenzy, that I had missed the most obviously interesting thing on the battlefield. Namely, off to the side, right in the shade of a cliff, there was a pair of small huts erected. Only one of them smelled like goblin though, so I guess that’s my next goal, huh?

Casually, I stroll up to it. When I pull the flaps to the tent open, a pair of soldiers stab their spears into my chest, impaling both of my lungs. Very rude. In return, I plunge my hands into their chests and tear out their hearts. They fall down, dead.

That leaves me with the tent’s inhabitant, which is…

…Just some guy. Well, sure, he’s dressed extravagantly, but he’s still just a guy. Though, then again, that is a pretty snazzy crown.

“P—please,” he stammers pathetically. “Don’t hurt me. You may have taken the life of my love, but—”

But nothing, because now I’ve also taken the life of him. Oops. My hand just slipped, I swear that’s all! Ah, his blood is sticky, that’s kind of gross… I can’t smell any other goblins around, so I guess I can take my time now. I wonder how much his crown will sell for? It looks important. I don’t think I have the patience right now to skin every single one of these goblins, but this one seems important, so I might—

I hear a rustle behind me.